Take Her Breath Away
by xwetparchmentx
Summary: Written for a recent fest, I am now allowed to publish this wherever I please! Contains language, abuse, and adult situations, not to mention angry sex. Please read and review, criticism is welcome!


The skies were dark, clouds filled with dementors, streets crowded with black hooded death eaters. The back alley ways were lit dimly by dusty wall sconces and Rita Skeeter's only route home. Yes, the lonely head reporter of The Daily Prophet now in her darkest hours of need, vulnerable and scared, alone with no one to turn to but perhaps a mirrored reflection. Every now and then, she thinks of how she regrets spewing such vial things about people, perhaps then she would have someone to run to.

Now yellow journalism wasn't the same safe game she used to play. It had become a devious plot, one side or the other, an extravaganza that kept her awake at night with her wand held tight in her trembling fingers, and it was all her fault. She was wealthy, she could afford food on her table every night unlike many wizarding families now, but a lone plate and goblet just didn't look as appealing as two or more.

As she walks, the gusty wind takes her breath away, so she tightens her scarf around her neck, bends her head and squints to see though the dead leaves and garbage that drift around her. Her staggered breath comes in a mist, the air so cold it turns her exposed ankles and calves a stark white, her lips blue. The streets are so empty now, it almost seems post apocalyptic, and this chills her to the bone.

Finally she's home. She owns a small studio apartment, meant for one, fit with a futon, desk and chair, a bathroom, a cozy kitchen, and the decorations of her liking. She adored the color purple, and so that color made up most everything. It helped calm her when she wrote her articles. Without the lights on though, it gave her small space an eerie appearance of a dark basement rather than a welcoming home.

She flips a switch, flooding the rectangular living space with light, and she gasps, her parchment, ink, biographies and fiction novels scattered, torn and scorched all over the room. She drops her alligator hand bag without thinking, holding her wand out in front of her, creeping across the oak floor only after removing her acid green stiletto heels, her head spinning with thoughts that someone indeed had it out for her. She had suspected it, more like expected it, but maybe she was one of the lucky ones. Apparently not.

Suddenly her lamp just isn't giving enough light, the shadows seem more prominent and she's near sobbing. She's so terrified; she can feel her heart hammering in her throat.

"Harry Potter is DEAD!" cries her tiny muggle radio, making her jump in surprise, a yelp escaping her lips, "You've heard it, folks! Harry Potter, the so named 'chosen one', has been announced dead by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. As I understand it now, listeners, there is a standoff at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-"The radio cuts off, and Rita can now hear her own panting, feel her own sweaty palms. _Was it over?_ Harry Potter- dead- was this it? Had Voldemort prevailed in his evil plans?

"Don't be so stiff, Skeeter." comes a shrill female voice, making Rita scream and whip around, coming face to face with her intruder. Bellatrix Lestrange, wearing her long, wild black hair that fell to her curvy waist, dark sinister eyes peering at Rita, a smirk in them. She moves forward, as if greeting an old friend, "You don't look so happy to see me, _gorgeous_."

Rita holds her ground- she had come too far, she had survived this war, and still had food and the comforts of her warm home. She knew this was it, that Bellatrix had been sent for her. Rita was going to be a part of the search for casualties, but she could play the game. It was her expertise.

Rita smirks right back.

"I wasn't expecting company tonight. I planned on drinking alone." Rita says in a smooth tone, pissing Bellatrix off. Rita walks through her home to her kitchen, reaching for two glasses and a wine bottle above her little counter, popping the cork and filling the glasses with delicate movements, "Lovely weather we're having." She says sarcastically, followed by a low rumble of thunder.

Bellatrix doesn't like this, not at all, she was here to kill, not be welcome by some dumb broad who had turned her down when they were young. _"I'm not into girls,"_ Rita had said. Bullshit, Bellatrix had known better, she saw her fucking around, kissing and licking girls. She was in love with that girl with long platinum curls to her waist with such a witty way of speaking and thinking. Margarite flooded her dreams, fogged up her mind, made it near impossible to _breathe_ when she entered a room. And during their school years, Rita certainly was the prized possession of a lover, but she was difficult to acquire.

Bellatrix had been jealous, until she married; now she just wanted Rita dead- not that she wouldn't go for a good fuck first, of course. Margarite owed her that.

Rita sneers at her, reading her expression like a simple manual. And Bella _was_ simple, Rita had often reminded her how simple a Black girl could be when they shared classes and lunch. Rita remembers when Bella used to follow her around like a dog and write her anonymous love notes. Once, Bellatrix tried to kiss her when she had followed Rita to the library in the middle of the night. Rita had laughed at her and told her to give up, that she could do better than a Black.

Oh! But now Bella was a _Lestrange_; high and mighty, not to be fucked with- well, not in a literal sense anyways. But Rita could fix that.

"Wine?"

Bellatrix growls, running forward, hitting the glasses out of Rita's hands and grabbing her throat, throwing her onto her kitchen table, long unkempt nails digging into her long, pale throat, "I'm here to kill you, not play fucking tea!" she roars, choking her slightly.

"Those were crystal goblets, you bitch!" Rita hisses, the goblets breaking into a thousand pieces, wine sure to stain her oak wood floors. Her hands fly to Bella's, squeezing her wrists and trying to pry them from her throat, "Get your filthy hands off me."

Bellatrix swallows a lump in her throat, seeing the blonde writhe and gurgle when she tightens her hands, those red lips full and luscious. In all the rough movement, Rita's blouse had popped open, and her large pert breasts rose and fell with each breath, her torso softened by age but beautiful, _still_ beautiful.

"I thought you were here to kill me, not bask in my beauty." Rita breathes, kneeing her right in her cunt, as hard as she could with her bare knee, causing Bellatrix to stumble back and howl out in pain. Rita rolls off the table and hits the floor with a loud thump, right on top the glass, crawling her way desperately to her front door, her torso cut up and bleeding from the broken goblets, the wine coloring her white laced brassiere. She's only feet from the door, but Bellatrix is quicker. She grabs a handful of platinum curls and yanks Rita back, Rita screaming bloody murder, clawing at the floor until Bellatrix has her face down, her teeth clashing against the floorboards. Rita can feel Bellatrix's weight on her, straddling her lower back and holding her head down, her hot breath grazing her ear.

"Now listen, Skeeter, we have a few rules you have to abide by tonight, if you want to live," Bellatrix hisses, her breath rancid, "You'll be a good girl, you're going to do exactly as I say, and you're going to act like you're enjoying yourself. If I don't kill you tonight, I'm going to make sure you can't walk, make sure everyone knows what a disgusting whore you are." Rita lets out a struggled snarl, turning her head to the side so she didn't chip a tooth. Bellatrix yanks her head up, kissing her forcefully with that wicked tongue, and Rita gags.

Bellatrix forces Rita onto her back, stripping her quickly, leaving the squirming blonde with only her thin panties, her nipples pink, perfect, erect from the chill of the room. Her breasts move with each struggle, driving Bellatrix mad, the woman bending down and taking a nipple into her mouth. She clamps down a bit roughly, making Rita cry out in pleasure and pain, electricity flowing straight from the source to her cunt. Rita can feel the ache, the wetness grow, her musky smell filling Bella's nose. Bellatrix sucks loudly, locking eyes with Rita, watching her breathe, arch her back and roll her hips gently, her red lips parted and glasses foggy with undeniable lust. Rita had never wanted something more, despite her hate for Bella, she hadn't been laid in quite a while, and this was turning out to be in her favor. Rita moans as Bellatrix releases her sore rosy peak, giving her a few more flicks of her tongue before slowly biting down her porcelain stomach, chewing slowly at her hips and thighs.

"Oh Gods…" Rita gasps, spreading her legs, wanting that hot mouth on her damp heat. Bellatrix looks wild, beautiful, frightening, stirring feelings in Rita's chest she had never felt, it made her dizzy. She lets her head fall back and rest against the floor, pounding with lust and fear. "So this is what you came for… You fool. If he finds out, you'll be dead."

"What's that Skeeter? I see someone's a bit flustered…" Bellatrix cackles in her sharp voice, pulling away and sitting back to watch Rita fight with herself, wanting to run away but wanting to be fucked at the same time, it was glorious. This is what Bella had _dreamed_ of. Margarite looked as perfect beneath her as she had previously thought.

"Don't stop now…" Rita groans, whimpering when Bellatrix yanks her panties, ripping them easily, smelling them before storing them away inside her black cloak. Rita was completely open to her, wet and hot, her curly blonde pubic hair matted from her juices; glistening, pink and perfect.

"You smell divine, Margarite…" Bellatrix purrs, running a finger up her slit, focusing on her clit and rubbing slow circles, then quick and hard, Rita squirming in response, moaning softly. Bellatrix leans down, licking up her thighs, catching Rita's flowing juices with her tongue.

"_Ohhhhhhhh_ _Gods_… _Oh yesyesyes_…" Rita moans loudly, Bellatrix's mouth finally _there_, lapping at her lips, her finger still massaging her clit, fucking her with her tongue. Bellatrix groans when Rita starts moving, grinding herself against Bella's face, letting go of her control completely. "More, more, please, fuck me!" Rita growls, her cunt aching, and Bella's tongue just wasn't enough to satiate her needs.

"I'm glad I came prepared. Look at yourself, Margarite… I bet you never guessed you'd be begging me for this. You're a whore. Nothing but that. You conniving, disgusting excuse of a woman. Ruining lives with your words," As Bella speaks, she pulls out a thick, black strap on from her tiny bag, stripping before Rita and fitting it on herself, tapping the end with her wand and giving the tip a squeeze with her hand, gasping, releasing some of the built up ache, "Oh yes… You're a terrible human being. I've killed people, but you've done far worse with what you spit into that fucking paper. Turn over." She demands, forcing Rita onto her stomach, pulling her up on her knees and bending forward to give her a few more licks.

"You're jealous. You always were, you're a sad excuse for a death eater- he's only using you, Bella, he never cared for you-"

"DO NOT SPEAK OF MY LORD IN VAIN!" Bellatrix roars immediately, smacking Rita's ass with a swift hand, leaving a bright red welt. Rita cries out and Bella can see her delicious cunt contract, so she hits her again and again and again, until Rita is in tears sobbing softly but so close to her climax. Bellatrix brings her hand up on Rita's exposed slit, making a loud wet slapping sound, Rita crying out in pain. Rita bucks her hips in response, wanting all of Bella's girth in her, she wanted this, _needed_ this.

"Just fuck me!" Rita cries out, groaning loudly when Bella pushes the head in. Bellatrix can't help herself, feeling Rita's hot, wet tightness around her black shaft drives her mad. She slams into her, right to the hilt, making short, fast thrusts right against her cervix. Rita bites her bottom lip until she tastes blood, pain riveting through her body, trying to pull her hips away until Bellatrix starts thrusting fully, their hips slapping together, hitting her g-spot every time. Rita cries out in pleasure, screaming and fucking back, pushing her torso up with her hands so she could really give back, feeling Bellatrix throb inside her. Bellatrix brings her hand down on Rita's perfect rear, feeling her clench, gasping and watching her toy pummel Rita's tight snatch, her lips bright red from the blows, stretched around the black phallus.

"Right there right there right-" Rita falls silent, Bellatrix stopping to watch Rita fuck herself, her back arched and head thrown back, tears staining her cheeks, her cunt tightening and making tiny spasms, soaking the toy. Rita cries out in ecstasy, riding her orgasm out slowly, thankful that Bella let her, collapsing forward onto the floor, Bellatrix slipping out. Rita is panting, exhausted, helpless and vulnerable. Bellatrix knows this is her chance, but she hesitates, seeing she has already ruined this beautiful creature. Rita rolls over and curls up, shaking, sweating and scared, watching Bellatrix with wide blue eyes. Her glasses were gone, and she looked so weak, like those glasses were her shield, what made her who she was when she ruined lives with her quill. Rita holds herself, her breath quivering.

"Please… Don't kill me." She breathes.

Bellatrix looks as if she pities Rita, and she does, she feels Rita deserves a more fair death, while she is asleep, not awake and sobbing for her life. She kneels beside Rita, lifting her and kissing her passionately, and for a moment both women think it could be love, but it was never right. Rita kisses back, but this isn't going to work. For once though, she feels loved, not alone. Perhaps turning Bella away had been a mistake; maybe they could have been different people. Their worlds could have been different.

Bellatrix realizes she still loves Margarite. When she looks into her icy blue eyes, she sees a human being, someone who had only longed to be loved and cared for. She sees that Rita had closed herself off from people for fame, popularity and money, and in turn had become a lonesome woman. She, in turn, took out her misery and pain on the innocent, twisting true words into lies. But here, now, Margarite Skeeter was a person, but an empty shell.

"_I'm sorry_."


End file.
